


grief.

by atrocities_galore



Category: mcyt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:36:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrocities_galore/pseuds/atrocities_galore
Kudos: 3





	grief.

techno had been alone for a long, good, ten minutes after everything.

he remembers specifically, because his brothers words had been ringing in his head on the two minute walk back home. _phil doesn’t want you here._ _how can i trust you?_ they tossed and turned his insides until the male suddenly felt like he had done something wrong.

what was it he did wrong?

was it the fact that he learned how to care, or discarded that for them?

he wasn’t trying to gain pity; besides who would listen? there was nothing he could get out of it, nothing the king could dig up out of people he once loved to feel bad for him. no, no techno wanted to figure out where it went wrong. where in this realm of life that he managed to tear their family apart with no recognition for what he’d done.

hooves dug into the ground of blackstone and soot, the chaotic base he called home reminding him to reach up and scratch at the tuft of fur now growing at his neck.   
  
stress.

he knew it better than his own father, for christs sake. 

did that say something? that he knew more frustration, more paranoia, more of the sickly saccharine voices in his head more than his own dad?

the thought brought a grimace to his face, blood soaked in place of his fists while he looked down. when did that get there? did he hit dream a bit too hard, push him around a bit too much? his knuckles ached, bruises splotched across them like an oil painting left unfinished. when did it get this bad, when did he get that out of touch with his own thoughts? it scared him. it scared techno more than he cared to admit, but it was fine; yet again, who was there to admit this to?

and as he glanced towards the abandoned hallway of his so called kingdom, the home where he once knew to be bustling with friends and joy, he saw . . nothing.

it was cold, decrepit. lone.

but, but he couldn’t let himself crumble yet again, right? he still had to figure out something, find the will to stay breathing for something. sure, he lost phil, but that was already going into the pits anyways. not after everything that happened back at his house.

not wilbur.

he never had wilbur. he never had the thought of a loving brother in the past few years of their life. maybe,  _ maybe _ when they were younger, but now? techno knew of him as a presidential thorn in his side that just managed to tear away the last thing he had left. he betrayed his trust even after techno tried so, so hard to prove to him that things were different. after all those years, wil couldn’t understand that techno wasn’t trying to do this out of spite. that he was angry, that he was so fucking upset about the death of his little brother that he could’ve ripped dream’s throat out right then and there with no remorse. but, wilbur didn’t get that. 

he thinks that was the worst part of it all; losing a brother.

and tommy-  _ god _ , tommy. he couldn’t even begin to think of how to fix what happened. techno practically let him die, because he didn’t know what to do. he spent so long trying to think of a plan to go get him, that he waited too long.

the vivid image of his little brother’s corpse waving at him suddenly brought a wave of nausea over him, head dizzy.

_ he _ caused that. in his muddled mind, techno was the reason that tommy’s head was caved in, that tommy no longer got to see the lovely wonders of the world. tommy didn’t get to breathe in the spring air, didn’t get to feel the warm touch of a friend, of family. he wouldn’t feel the grass beneath his fingertips, never start another war, never yell at techno for being too much, never storm off from one of his pranks with his knowing laugh. techno took that away from him, and now he had to wait for dream to write down the solutions to this all.

he takes a shaky breath looking down at his hands now to see the blood being washed back by a falling liquid. surely it wasn’t tears; when was the last time he felt this much? his everything ached, slumped against a wall with a coming-to forming in his mind.

dream.

something clicked in his head at the mention of that name, at the realization of what he had been speculating.

techno was alone. for the first time since he was picked up by phil, he truly did have not a single man by his side. and while that did crumble his pride, his all, really, it did cause something to occur in that thick skull of his.

he never returned a favor. a favor of the one man who hasn’t lied to him.

it was conflicting, though, the thought of helping the guy who just singlehandedly slaughtered his little brother because of a slight annoyance. in fact, techno really wouldn’t have minded if he ended up dead in that cell as well. with the amount of rage he felt in that moment, the man is truly surprised how he managed to keep himself from ripping the other limb from limb. yet, he didn’t, despite knowing that he could be brought back as well.

so what was the connection? what made him more deserving of technos trust rather than his own family, why did techno feel the need to stick to him like glue instead of trying to salvage what he already had?

he racked his brain, for four whole minutes.

trying, trying so hard to think about what it meant to feel trust towards someone who called him a traitor.

he thought so hard that he thinks himself dead, right along tommy with his corpse back in the home. techno couldn’t wrap his brain around it, why that underlying favoritism still stuck with him no matter what. it wasn’t that he owed the meglomaniac, no. techno could betray that at the drop of a dime if he so desired, so  _ why _ did he stay?

because he trusted him.

it finally washed over the battered man that he trusted the murderer because he proved himself to techno. dream stood side by side with him on doomsday, on watching the walls of his brothers not-yet nation get taken down with short laughter. he was there for him to listen, to rant about the woes of his family when he felt taken aback. he supplied him with withers, with tnt, with promise that the land would be perfect if they just got the nuisances out of the way. dream didn’t lie, dream never took the time to be fake with techno. 

and for some reason, that filled the king with malice. why was it that the man who tore apart his support system showed more care to techno than his own family? wilbur had never shown that type of familiarity; just begged for his approval on things that he couldn’t give. made techno out to be someone he’s not, rotted him to his core. phil didn’t even bother in trying, just listened to wilbur like always because techno didn’t have a place in the family more. and tommy, rest his soul, didn’t even get a say in the matter. he already hated techno, so really; was techno so wrong for wanting to put his last breath into trusting someone who really did care for who he was? or were the stars truly misaligned when they created this realm, to shatter techno down and to prove that he  _ isn’t _ what he thinks. maybe wilbur was onto something; maybe all he would be is a mutt waiting on people who treat him only as such. would that have even been a change from how he was usually portrayed?

he exhales his troubles, lets them collapse out of his lungs like the words he had screamed so hoarsely to his late brother.

techno had never been one for talking; now, it was time to do.

throne forgotten from his home, the crowned man pulled out the axe in his inventory and took a long, long look at the weapon. there will be blood on it by the end of the night, he’s sure, it was now just a question of who’s. maybe even his own, if things go terribly, but something tells him even that wouldn’t be so bad at all.

and he begins the four minute walk to his fate; to his coming to an end, or to his revival of the last will he had left.

a dead man’s will was stronger than anyone cared to admit. techno remembers telling phil that a few days prior, but now the circumstances had changed. he was the dead man, on his last life willing to put it on the line if something were to happen. no games, no tricks, just his all or nothing like usual.

for the first time in a while, on that four minute walk of his to a possible bloodshed, techno prayed to whatever god was out there.

to lugh, to mother moon, to apostle, to even theseus.

he prayed for their direction, he prayed to know whether or not he was doing the right thing, if all of this was going to be worth it. techno wanted so desperately to know if he would be walking out of that cave with a prisoner, or his own corpse. he wanted light shone in on his destiny, on the fate that he thought he cared no more about. despite how much he wanted to live, techno prayed to the gods that he would walk out of their with something to go for, something to live and care for. something that wouldn’t use him, that wouldn’t make him out to be a glorified weapon. and maybe that was selfish of him, maybe that caused the sky to grow dark and the stone walls beginning to surround him grow damp, but it was just in the practical canine’s nature.

and yet, as he now stood face to face with daedalus, the father that he had cherished for so long, techno felt a smile grow on his face. he knew the options of what it meant for them to get out of there; it was either his father or him, and for some reason in his head, that was fitting after all of this.

so he thanked the gods by shielding his axe for the time being, growing a respectful nod and only sparing a single glance to the prison, to the sun trapped inside a glorified mindbreak.

it’s in a mutt’s nature to bite back.


End file.
